


don't get lost in heaven

by killing_your_clone



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s03e03 The Chute, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Smut, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, but it wasn't much of a bed, incidental heterosexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29012304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killing_your_clone/pseuds/killing_your_clone
Summary: Keyed up and stuck in an Akritirian prison, Harry and Tom figure out a way to beat the effects of the clamp and finally get some sleep.It has consequences for their friendship, to say the least.
Relationships: Harry Kim/Tom Paris
Comments: 30
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so The Chute destroyed me. I had to write something about these two idiots. This is probably something that's been explored several times over the last 25 years, but here's my take on it! I'm considering following up with additional chapters exploring the aftermath on Voyager (in which case it will be a P with P), but for now it stands alone. I fudged the timeline on this one a little, but given that the show wasn't exactly clear how many days they were in there for, I'm going to allow it. 
> 
> This is also, quite literally, the first fanfic I've written and published to the internet in over 20 years (last time I was 8 years old and it was a Pokemon fanfic). The pandemic has done strange things to my brain. And this hasn't been beta'd at all. Please be kind and let me know if you like it.

It was their second night in the Akritirian prison, and despite being exhausted beyond measure, Harry Kim could not get to sleep. 

It felt like he drank several cups of strong coffee on an empty stomach. Though perhaps it would be more accurate to compare it to a more potent psychoactive (if there happened to be a drug that released fire ants inside of your head), but that knowledge wasn’t exactly in Harry’s wheelhouse. Tom’s, maybe. He had never asked. 

They were lying next to each other on the floor of the makeshift shelter, a bundle of rags serving as the pillow for both of them. Harry didn’t question why they weren’t sleeping top and tail, as was usual Starfleet protocol. He was dimly aware of the fact that in another situation, another timeline, he might quite like to share a bed with Tom. This, however, was not much of a bed. 

Still, the mere presence of Tom’s body heat, his quiet breathing, his broad back, all seemed to feed into that buzz of agitation thrumming in the back of Harry’s head. He long since had come to terms with the fact that his crush on Tom went a little deeper than just simple hero worship, but he was for the most part comfortable with the fact that said crush remained unrequited. At the moment, though, with his nerves flayed by the clamp, the reality of Tom’s body so close to him was one he could barely stand. 

“Hey – stop fidgeting!” Tom’s voice was sharp and irascible. Obviously he hadn’t been able to get any sleep either. 

“I can’t sleep – my thoughts are going way too fast,” Harry hissed back.

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry,” Tom’s voice had softened again. “It’s me, too. Okay, hold on.”

Tom turned onto his other side, and began to speak in a low tone right by Harry’s ear, describing in exquisite detail all of their favorite foods. It was a mirror of his actions from earlier in the day, which at the time seemed to work remarkably well in centering the two of them. Unfortunately, despite the hollowness he felt deep in his stomach, Harry had no appetite for a meal he couldn’t eat. 

“...rack of lamb with mint sauce, pecan pie, a Viennese hot chocolate with whipped cream...”

But there was something rich and husky in Tom’s voice that wasn’t there before. It didn’t soothe Harry, on the contrary, it made him shudder and squirm. No. This wasn’t working. Tom must have noticed his discomfort, because he clasped a hand around Harry’s shoulder to still him. Harry jerked away from his touch, feeling quite as if he was going out of his mind. 

“Harry, come on, it’s alright.”

“Tom.”

“What?”

Harry had to think of something fast to keep Tom from fussing over him. “T-tell me about Megan Delaney – your last date with her.” 

Tom’s face lit up in a broad smile, and just seeing that seemed to lift Harry’s mood somewhat. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Tom began to describe the details of his sailing date with Megan on the holodeck. Tom had taken Harry out on the same program once, though of course it wasn’t a date, he just needed someone to test it out with. Naturally. Still, Harry could remember how dashing Tom looked that day as he guided the boat around the lake, his hair and skin turned golden by the late afternoon sun. 

“So, afterwards, I took her back to my quarters.” Tom paused there.

“Go on. What happened next?”

“Harry – you really want to hear this?”

“Yeah,” Harry said thickly. 

“We started kissing, and then she took her dress off, and she had these big, uh, tits, with these little pink nipples, and...”

As Tom continued, Harry did his best to imagine Megan’s comely figure in his mind’s eye. He couldn’t deny that he was getting turned on. Tom didn’t exactly have a flair for erotic storytelling, but Harry wasn’t sure it was entirely the story he was responding to. There was also the breathlessness of Tom’s voice, and the way his body shifted against Harry’s in the darkness as he described the curves of his former partner. 

“...so she kneeled on the bed and took my cock in her mouth, and I swear, Harry, nothing had ever felt so good...”

Harry exhaled slowly at Tom’s mention of his own cock – or was it the way he said Harry’s name? The tightness in his groin was now nearly unbearable, but he had to admit it was serving as an adequate distraction from the effects of the clamp.

All the while Tom went on. “So I was fucking her from behind, right, and-" he cut himself off with a frustrated moan.

“What? Tom!”

“Harry, I’m sorry,” Tom groaned. “This is too much. I’ve got to jerk off. I’ll never get to sleep otherwise.”

”Um, right here?”

”Yeah, _right here_. What, you think I should go outside and give those prisoners a show?” Tom said irritably, but then seemed to reconsider his tone. “Please, Harry. I’ll be quick.”

Harry swallowed. “Yeah, okay. Go ahead.” He hoped he sounded casual. Like this was a completely normal situation for two friends to find themselves in. 

Harry tried to make it obvious that he was looking away, but nevertheless he stole several surreptitious glances towards Tom as the other man shucked up his shirt, pulled his pants down, and took his cock out (long and straight and altogether lovely looking, Harry noticed). Tom wasted no time in adopting a steady pace, his other hand moving up to tease his own nipple. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, exposing the long line of his neck. Even here, Tom was a show-off.

 _I guess he’s not going to finish telling me about Megan Delaney_. But that was inconsequential at this point. Harry had never felt so turned on, so overwhelmingly frustrated before in his life, listening to his best friend touch himself mere inches from where he lay in a dark corner of a stinking prison. Unable to help himself, Harry tentatively grasped his own cock through his pants and gasped involuntarily.

Tom’s eyes fluttered open at the sound and he flashed a crooked smile. “Go ahead – I won’t tell anybody,” he whispered. 

Harry could feel himself blush. He looked away again before shuffling out of his pants and gray Starfleet-issue boxer briefs, allowing his already hard cock to spring free and hit him in the stomach with an audible smack. He began to rub himself with the palm of his hand. If this was a race, though, Tom had already gotten a head start, and he had every intention of catching up. 

_Megan Delaney, think of Megan Delaney_. But Tom’s bare thigh was touching his own now, sending electricity through him at every point of contact, and all he could hear was their labored breathing and the sound of skin against skin. It was all Harry knew, all he had ever known. 

While Harry had been attempting – and mostly succeeding – to look fixedly at the ceiling of the small shelter, a quick glance over to Tom’s face showed that his friend was making no such attempt at propriety. He was _staring_ openly and unabashedly at Harry’s cock, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. Harry felt himself get impossibly warmer.

“You’re beautiful,” Tom murmured, then quickly shook his head, scratching at where the clamp was. 

Before Harry could avert his eyes again, Tom had met his gaze. Even in the low light his blue eyes were striking. Tom ran the same hand that had been in his hair up Harry’s thigh before he stilled at his hip, not daring to go any further. And then he raised his eyebrows.

Harry understood the question posed in Tom’s heavy-lidded stare and dipped his head once in response. _Yes, please, yes_. 

Tom smiled and took Harry’s cock from him, squeezing it gently before starting a slow, languid rhythm that quickly picked up in intensity. Harry trembled, feeling completely at the mercy of Tom’s warm, clever hand. But he wasn’t willing to let Tom stay in control for long.

 _No way he gets to have all the fun_ , Harry thought as he slid his own hand between Tom’s legs, grasping him firmly around the base. He swept his thumb through the fluid that had pooled at the slit, dragging it down the length of Tom’s cock and back up again. 

“Oh god, Harry, please,” Tom gasped, and the neediness in his voice threatened to destroy Harry completely. A distant part of him wished for _more time_ , a chance to properly explore what was happening between them, but the implant in his head had set him on a collision course. He had to move quickly.

They continued like that for a while, staring at each other, panting, mouths open, each driven by their own compulsive need to give and receive pleasure. Soon enough, though, Tom seemed to have completely lost any semblance of the plot. He was muttering and gasping - “ _Harry, oh god, fuck, I can’t believe_ ” - and the rhythm of his hand around Harry’s cock had grown erratic. 

“Yeah, come on, Tom,” Harry growled, keeping up his unrelenting pace. Their faces were so close now, Tom was looking at him with so much desperate tenderness, Harry could almost lean in and- 

“Harry, I’m gonna -” Tom gave a strangled cry, his stomach tensing and spasming as he painted it with his cum. Harry kept pumping him through it, only finally backing off when Tom gave a small whimper of protest.

Seeing Tom fall apart left Harry absolutely mindless with desire. His entire body was burning up, and he wanted to burn Tom up along with him. In one swift movement, he took Tom’s limp hand off of his cock and shoved him – still shivering and whining - flat to the ground. When Harry clambered on top of him, Tom spread his legs as if driven to do so automatically, but Harry pushed them back together at the knees and slid his cock into the tight space between his thighs, slick with sweat and cum and oh so _warm_.

It felt far too good to last long. Harry gripped Tom’s shoulders and buried his face into his neck as he thrust one, two, three times between his thighs, right under Tom’s balls, biting Tom’s shoulder to keep himself from shouting as his orgasm ripped through him. All the while Tom stroked up and down his sides, petting him through it, murmuring sweet, incomprehensible nothings into his ear.

Harry shuddered and collapsed bonelessly on top of Tom, mind completely, blissfully empty. Clamp be damned. 

* * *

Harry didn’t know how long he had laid there when a hand came up from underneath him and gently tapped his hip.

“Hey, Har, we gotta get ourselves cleaned up,” Tom said hoarsely. 

“Mmf.”

“Come on, I’m starting to itch.”

Head still fuzzy, Harry rolled off of Tom and set about finding the cleanest rag he could. He dipped a corner of it into the small dish of water they kept on the shelf on the other side of the shelter.

From a distance of a few feet, Harry finally got a good look at Tom, who looked completely _wrecked._ His blond hair was mussed up, his face flushed and sweaty, and there was cum drying in streaks on his stomach and - _oh_ \- all over his pale thighs. There was a bruise threatening to appear on his shoulder. 

_I really did all that to flyboy Tom Paris, didn’t I? Maybe I ought to apologize._ “Hey, Tom, uh, I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me.”

“Shut up, Harry,” Tom groaned, “and bring that over here so we can both go to sleep.”

Harry returned to Tom’s side with the rag, softly wiping down his thighs and stomach as Tom purred in contentment at the cool touch. Harry felt that it was the least he could do for his friend after – after whatever _that_ was. He had to admit it gave him a little bit of an additional thrill, being able to take care of Tom (an older, more experienced man) like that. After they were both cleaned and dressed, Harry slid in next to Tom, finally ready for sleep. 

He knew that if they both made it out alive he would have to think about it eventually. Would have to move through the requisite mental hoops in order to put what just happened safely behind him. That was something he had gotten used to doing several times over while serving on Voyager. At the moment, though, all he felt was a free floating sense of relief. The angry buzz in his head had quieted; he felt sated, sleepy, _safe_. He considered that they might have a fighting chance of surviving their ordeal if they continued doing this every night – but perhaps that was a thought best kept to himself. 

Harry felt a warm and well-muscled arm come around him. “If we can do this every night, maybe this won’t be so bad,” Tom said dreamily. Within moments he was snoring softly in Harry’s ear. Too exhausted to feel any sort of way about it, Harry soon followed him into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I couldn't let just a oneshot be a oneshot, so here we are back on Voyager dealing with our feelings (or not). There's no smut in this one, but we'll get back there eventually. 
> 
> It meant a lot to me to get so much nice feedback on the first chapter, given that this is essentially my first foray into fanfic writing! 
> 
> Let me know if you're enjoying it. And you can find me on tumblr at @clone-thugs-n-harmony if you like these two idiots as much as I do.

Tom Paris sat up gingerly on the bio-bed, inhaling sharply through his teeth. His stab wound had been healed, but the surrounding area was still tender. With the clamp mercifully removed (though leaving a splitting headache in its wake), he felt rather tender all over. It was all too bright, too cold, and the antiseptic smell of Sickbay burned inside his nose.  
  
“Ah-ah-ah, careful, don’t strain yourself. You should know how this works by now, Lieutenant.” The Doctor flitted about him like a hummingbird with a tricorder, finally coming to pause at a yellowing bruise on his trapezius muscle, exposed by the wide collar of his gown.  
  
“Why, Mr. Paris, if I didn’t know any better I’d say this was a humanoid bite mark. Did this happen when you were stabbed?”  
  
Tom blanched. _Harry._ “Yeah. That must have been it. Absolute savages, they were.”  
  
“I see.” The Doctor quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll get the dermal regenerator.”  
  
“No - no, that’s alright. Doc, if you don’t mind, I’d like to just rest for a while.”  
  
If the Doctor was confused by Tom’s request, he didn’t show it. He wore the same look of resigned annoyance he always did. “So be it, Mr. Paris, but I’ll be keeping you here for observation for a little longer.”  
  
Tom was grateful to hear it. Truth be told, he felt more than a bit out of sorts, and he needed a moment to collect himself before throwing himself back into the day-to-day fracas of life on Voyager. His memories of their ordeal in the Akritirian prison were hazy at best and rapidly slipping out of reach, being that he spent the last handful of days in a clamp-driven delirium; immobile, febrile, and slowly bleeding out on the floor of some criminal psychopath’s decrepit shack. He nevertheless had the nagging suspicion that something else had happened, something he wouldn’t be able to leave behind as easily as the clamp itself.  
  
There were a few brief moments of lucidity that he could recall. He remembered being afraid, the fear like ice water in his veins. He remembered an anxiety so strong it spilled over into rage. He thought he’d never forget the stink of the place, the acrid smell of sweat and blood.  
  
He could remember Harry. _This man is my friend. No one touches him._ He could remember the measure of Harry’s body moving against him - warm, solid, corporeal. Harry’s hand around him, bringing him towards oblivion, Harry’s mouth on his own - no, they hadn’t kissed, had they? Tom recalled wanting to, but that was a yearning he had struggled with since long before Akritiri.  
  
Tom was swiftly arriving at the realization that one of the most incendiary sexual experiences of his life amounted to little more than a shared handjob in the corner of a fetid prison. With his best friend. That was the last experience he would have expected to share with Harry, who he had never seen in that way before. Well, no, that was a lie. There were very few healthy young people that Tom didn’t see in “that way” when first meeting them. People said he was easy, and they were probably right.  
  
But Harry was different. Loyal, brave, unflinchingly polite Harry, who never had so much as a hair out of place on his handsome head. Harry, who never indicated that he had ever been attracted to another man (though he wasn't exactly forthcoming about women, either). Harry, who was Tom’s closest friend in the entire Delta Quadrant and perhaps the best friend he’d ever had. Tom was above all else grateful for that, unaccustomed as he was to the concept of anyone giving a shit about him. So he kept any additional curiosities filed away, out of sight, out of mind.  
  
Except now he _knew_ , and it felt like stolen knowledge. No way would the Harry Kim he knew ever deign to do something like _that_ with someone like _Tom_. Clearly the clamp was to blame. But the thought that Tom might have taken advantage of their situation, that he might have convinced Harry to do something he otherwise wouldn’t have wanted to do made Tom profoundly uneasy.  
  
It had all happened so fast. Most cruelly, he had been given no time to process any of it before he was stabbed. Yet Harry remained at his side the entire time, mopping his feverish brow with a tenderness Tom felt he didn’t deserve.  
  
Except now Harry was nowhere to be found. “Ah, Doctor, where’s Harry? Is he alright?”  
  
“Mr. Kim insisted on retiring to his quarters once the implant was removed. It was a wonder I was even allowed to heal those cuts on his face.”  
  
_He’s avoiding me. I’ve really screwed the pooch, haven’t I._ Tom’s hand instinctively flew to the back of his head, fingers searching for a piece of metal that was no longer there. Of course he found nothing - this agitation was entirely of his own making.  
  
Tom might have been fuzzy on the details, but he nevertheless felt wholly responsible for whatever had happened between them. After all, if something got fucked up, Thomas Eugene Paris was usually to blame, right? As such, it was his responsibility to set things right, to convince Harry that nothing would get in the way of their friendship. Nothing was more important. This was his cross to bear.  
  
“ _Mr. Paris!_ ”  
  
“Wha - huh?”  
  
“I said you’re free to go. Please, go.” The Doctor made a shooing motion with his hands. “I’ll be calling you back when I’ve finished analyzing these implants and I can clear you for duty.”  
  
Tom nodded and shuffled out into the hallway, hoping that a shower and a shave would set his racing mind to rights.

* * *

  
  
Now that Tom had washed the last of the Akritirian grime from his body, the harsh lighting and sterile environment of Sickbay no longer felt so hostile and unwelcoming. He was beginning to feel as if he belonged on a starship and not down in the muck with the rest of the pigs.  
  
This time he was accompanied by Captain Janeway, Neelix, and to his utter relief, Harry. Harry was freshly shaven, dark hair tidily combed back, but he looked pale and drawn, somehow younger than Tom had remembered him. It was as if his Starfleet uniform was a size too big.  
  
But when Harry noticed Tom, awake and intact and perched on the edge of the bio-bed, he smiled so radiantly that Tom felt something warm bloom at the center of his very being. The moment soon passed as Harry looked away again, absently fidgeting with his collar, a flush creeping across his face and neck.  
  
“Tom! You’re looking better than the last time I saw you,” Janeway remarked cheerfully.  
  
“All thanks to you, Captain. We really owe you one,” Tom said sincerely. “And you too, Neelix,” he added.  
  
“We wouldn’t have left you there. No question about it.” Janeway ran her hand up Tom’s arm, reassuring and maternal in a way only the Captain could manage. To think, they had children out there somewhere.  
  
The Doctor appeared at their side, looking typically smug. “I’ve finished analyzing the implants, and you’ll be pleased to know that the treatment I provided will successfully counteract their effects.” He held out a tray containing the removed implants, which looked deceptively innocuous in their small size.  
  
The others continued discussing the effects of the clamp, but Tom had no interest in hearing his traumatic experience rehashed by those who hadn’t experienced it. He instead kept his eyes on Harry, who appeared to be existing somewhere else entirely, staring blankly into the middle distance. It became clear to Tom that he needed to get the two of them out of there, and quickly.  
  
“Come on, we’re overdue for that steak dinner.” Tom placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gently shepherded him out of Sickbay. A small part of him was relieved that Harry didn’t recoil from the contact. It felt so good to touch him again, even through the starched layers of his uniform.  
  
“So, what do you think? A, uh, baked potato? A big mound of onion rings?” He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop. He was never one for meaningful silences.  
  
Harry paused in the middle of the corridor. “Tom, listen to me.”  
  
_Okay, this is it_ , Tom thought. _We’re talking about this now. A little earlier than expected, but-_  
  
“I almost killed you.”  
  
_Oh, that wasn’t-_  
  
“I was ready to hit you with the pipe. Don’t you remember?” Harry choked out.  
  
And all of a sudden Tom did remember. A desperate scrabble, and that pipe - that fucking pipe - held high above him with shaking hands, threatening to come down and bash his skull to bits. And for all the difference it made, it may as well have happened to someone else.  
  
“You want to know what I remember?” Tom said, straightening up. “I remember someone saying, ‘This man is my friend. Nobody touches him.’ I’ll remember that for a long time.”  
  
Harry smiled, small but genuine, and Tom felt that familiar warmth blooming within him again, believing that for once in his wretched life he had said the right thing.  
  
“Now what do you say we blow our replicator rations?” He placed his arm around Harry again, and Harry relaxed into his embrace, letting his shoulders drop. It all felt so right - if he ignored how much he wanted to push Harry up against the bulkhead and kiss the very breath out of him. What better way to celebrate their survival?  
  
_Settle down, Paris. Don’t be a lech._ He was going to have to settle for a chaste hand on Harry’s back. If that greedy voice inside him believed that was unfair, that it was unfair to know how Harry’s cock felt between his thighs while not even knowing what it felt like to kiss him - he was just going to have to cope. And coping could wait until after they had dinner. God, he was starving.  
  
“How about...fudge ripple pudding?” said Harry, a slight smile still playing around his lips.  
  
“For you, anything,” Tom replied, and he meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry/not sorry about the threshold reference i couldn't help myself =)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came together a little faster than the previous one! There is at least one reference to something that happened in a later season - I kept it in anyway. Maybe I should remove the "canon compliant" tag :) 
> 
> Leave a comment if you want to make my entire day (and probably several days after it). Thanks for reading!

They never talked about it. Any of it.

Tom seemed to think that their brief conversation outside of Sickbay settled the matter. He seemed as chipper as ever, throwing himself full-throttle into his holodeck projects and always responding to the captain’s requests with a hearty “Yes, ma’am!”

Harry could not bring himself to feel the same way. He was bone tired. Weary. What was meant to be a restorative shore leave had been anything but. It wasn’t just his time in prison – it felt as if all the traumas of the last three years were finally catching up with him. He could see it in the bags underneath his eyes. Back on Earth he had never considered the need for a psychologist, but he was beginning to lament the lack of a proper ship’s counselor. Usually he could just talk to Tom. Tom, though he seemed to have trouble taking his own advice sometimes, was always an empathetic ear, wiser in certain ways than he let on. 

Tom had embraced him that one night, drawing him close as they drifted off to sleep, and Harry knew immediately then that this was going to take some effort to move past. Still, he allowed it to happen. Allowed himself to be soothed by Tom’s arm around him, a welcome weight on his chest. What he hadn’t anticipated was his attempt on Tom’s life just a few days later, when Tom was already so close to death himself. It was difficult to reconcile what had happened in Akritiri with the man he thought he was. To say nothing of what he thought his relationship with Tom was.

He was grateful for his place on the bridge, where he could plead silently to the back of Tom’s head. _How can you act as if nothing happened? You called me beautiful. I nearly killed you._

Then there was the frustrating fact that Tom, already a tactile (some might say _handsy_ ) person to begin with, seemed to be taking any excuse to touch Harry. A comforting hand on the shoulder or the small of the back. Always friendly, always gentle. Or maybe Tom wasn't touching him more than usual, maybe Harry was just noticing it more often. It didn’t change the fact that every time Tom touched him Harry felt as if he might go up in flames on the spot. He did his level best to conceal his physical reaction (which usually was to jerk away as if beset by a spider), because he knew that would upset Tom, who seemed truly invested in acting like all was normal. Maybe for him it was. 

Harry wished he had the guts to touch him back, even just casually. He wished he could do a whole lot more, too. What was it that Tom said to him? _You always fall for the impossible ones_. No one more impossible than your best friend.

At least Tom didn't appear angry with him, though the thought didn’t seem to assuage Harry’s guilt any. He felt he’d buckle under the weight of it. It would come to visit late at night, forcing him to stay awake, roiling in his head and his gut. 

It was only in those small hours of the morning, when sleep had once again proved hopeless, that he gave himself over to his desires, allowing himself to believe that the hand that touched him belonged to someone else. 

* * *

It had been nearly two weeks since their rescue and for Harry, sleep was still elusive. As an Ensign, his allotted quarters were too small to comfortably pace in. He’d try to practice his clarinet (at least until it was no longer polite to do so), do a few push-ups, but he always wound up feeling like a trapped animal. He had taken to stalking the corridors instead, up and down various decks, listening to the ambient thrum of Voyager’s systems.

He found himself alone one such night in the Mess Hall. He had brought a PADD along with him, ostensibly to work on an engineering report he promised B’elanna he’d help with. The PADD lay neglected as he sat with his chin in his hand, fretting. He was trying to think about anything, anyone other than Tom, and it wasn’t working. And if he stayed where he was for much longer, he’d catch Neelix coming in for the breakfast shift.

Going back to his quarters wasn't an option. He already knew how that would end – he’d be tossing and turning all night, repeating and reliving various scenarios until he drove himself insane. So he wound up back in the turbolift instead, calling for a deck that decidedly wasn't his own.

 _Dropping by your friend’s place unannounced in the middle of the night isn't strange at all_ , Harry told himself as he stood outside of Tom’s door, hand hovering over the keypad. He tried to remind himself of all the times Tom sought him out at odd hours, whether it be to complain about a girl (or Commander Chakotay) or just because he had a brilliant idea for a holodeck program. 

It took a few minutes, but eventually Tom appeared in the doorway in his robe, looking bleary-eyed and puzzled but otherwise unperturbed. It was an endearing look on him, and Harry had to fight the impulse to reach out and smooth his rumpled hair. 

“Harry,” Tom murmured, his voice sleep-clogged but affectionate. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, I was just in the area, you know, and I thought, ‘Might as well see what Tom’s up to,’ so here I am-”

“No offense, Harry, but it’s-” Tom looked behind him at the wall display “-0200 hours.”

“I can't sleep.”

“Oh. Alright, well, come in.” Tom motioned Harry inside. “Can I replicate you something? Cup of tea? A whole pizza?”

Harry collapsed onto the couch. “Tea, please,” he muttered into his hands. 

It had been a while since he had visited Tom’s quarters. Apparently Tom hadn’t done any cleaning in the interim. His clothes were tossed haphazardly about the floor and there were dirty dishes in the replicator. _At least he hasn't had any girls over_ , Harry thought, then immediately felt silly for thinking it. 

Tom handed Harry a hot mug and sat down next to him on the couch. “The Doctor did say we’d be feeling weird for a while. Something about a chemical imbalance in the brain.”

“You seem fine,” Harry shot back. It came out sharper than he intended.

Tom raised his palms in defense. “Hey, I can assure you I haven’t been fine.” He looked around sadly at his messy room. “But I still do my job, okay?” 

“Are you saying I don’t?”

“Harry,” Tom started, exasperated. “I didn’t say that. What’s up with you? Did you come here just to pick a fight with me?”

“No, no, I'm sorry.” Fighting with Tom was the last thing he wanted to do. “I’m a mess, I feel like I haven't slept in days. I think everyone else is beginning to notice.”

Tom frowned. “You can’t sleep. I could tell you another story?” he said with a knowing arch of his eyebrow. 

Harry felt his pulse quicken. This was the closest either of them had gotten to addressing what had happened between them. Well, Tom always was the bolder of the two.

“Sure, if you’ve got a good one.” Harry smiled, but he didn't meet Tom’s eyes. Too risky.

“Ah, we’ve known each other for a while, I think you know all of my good stories by now.”

“Unfortunately,” Harry said. Tom boxed his shoulder, grinning. Harry shoved him back lightly, and then they were scrapping playfully, like a pair of overgrown boys.

“This is conduct unbecoming of a bridge officer, _Ensign_ ,” Tom said, trapping Harry’s wrists. 

Harry wriggled out of Tom’s grip. “What are you going to do, Lieutenant? Throw me in the brig?”

“Assault on a superior officer, definitely the brig. Though I don't think either of us feel like going back to prison right now.” He punctuated his last sentence with a hand on Harry’s thigh. 

Harry felt brighter, but still several miles from sleep. If anything, he was beginning to feel revitalized, lit up from within by Tom next to him, touching him. 

They were facing each other now, Tom’s arm thrown insouciantly over the back of the couch. Harry thought he saw a faint mark on Tom’s shoulder, and before he could think better of it, he brought his hand up to inspect it. Tom craned his neck to allow the gesture, letting Harry gently run his fingers over the discoloration. It was so faded as to be indistinguishable. That is, if you didn’t already know what you were looking for. 

“You really took a bite out of me there, Har,” Tom said warmly. 

Harry quickly withdrew his hand as if he’d touched fire, feeling a flush rise hot in his face. Tom caught his wrist, just as quickly.

“Harry, it’s alright. You can touch me,” he said quietly. He brought Harry’s hand back up to his shoulder and held it there for a beat.

Harry swallowed and trailed his fingers up the side of Tom’s neck, feeling his racing pulse, curving around to touch the soft blonde hairs at his nape. 

They were so close now. Tom’s expression was open, unguarded, blue eyes wide, but he otherwise remained perfectly still. At that moment Harry knew he would have to be the one to close the distance. It was his choice as to whether or not they'd go over this precipice together. He was in control. 

Harry placed a gentle but decisive bit of pressure on the back of Tom’s neck. Tom leaned in easily, eagerly, and their lips met, tentative at first, but Harry drew Tom in further, running his fingers through his hair ( _short, so unlike Libby_ ) and eliciting a soft sound from the back of his throat.

It felt so simple, so natural, kissing Tom. He might have been a brash pilot, but he kissed with nuance, with intelligence. Harry felt freed of a burden he didn’t know he was carrying.

Finally, he drew back, his heart hammering in his chest, breathing heavy, considering Tom with a heady mixture of elation and concern. 

Tom broke the silence first. “Cool.”

Harry ducked his head and laughed. “Really? ‘Cool’?”

“Yeah,” Tom said, grinning ear to ear. “That was cool.”

“Dork,” muttered Harry, with all the fondness in the world.

This time, Tom pulled Harry in for the kiss. They smiled against each other for a moment, but it soon grew heated as Tom drew Harry’s lower lip into his mouth. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long. I’m gonna pay you back for that bite,” Tom murmured before he descended on Harry’s neck, sucking a bruise there. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry hissed. He slipped a hand under Tom’s robe, raking his fingers through his chest hair. Tom was so utterly responsive, making low noises of contentment at every pass of Harry’s hand. Harry had never been with someone so eager, so _present_ before. It was intoxicating. This was what he missed when they were in the prison, where he felt he was being controlled by some ugly, primitive desire that wasn’t really _him_. At least that’s what he told himself.

Tom fell backwards and pulled Harry on top of him, hands clutching at his waist. Harry rolled his hips and felt Tom against him then; hard, hot, insistent. He burrowed into his neck, mouthing every inch of exposed skin, tasting salt. When he reared back to get a good look at Tom, his eyes were glassy, unfocused with desire-

Suddenly Harry felt a sickening jolt in the pit of his stomach. A gruesome image flashed across his mind. Tom underneath him in much the same way, pale as death, arms up, desperately trying to shield himself from – from _Harry_. It would have been so easy to kill him then, he was already so weak-

“No – no, I can't do this.” Harry yanked his hands away from Tom’s shoulders and fled to the other side of the couch, trying desperately to put some distance between them. Where all was heat just a second before, he now felt cold, an uneasy chill creeping up his spine and settling into his bones. 

Tom scrambled back up onto his elbows, alarmed. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry slid off the couch and onto the floor, releasing a long, shuddering sigh. “I’m sorry, this is stupid, I’m sorry...” 

“What are you sorry about?”

“I don’t understand why you don’t hate me,” Harry said miserably.

“Why would I hate you? I – you’re my best friend,” Tom pleaded.

“I tried to kill you, Tom. And now I’m in here trying to... trying to take advantage of you.”

“Hey, _hey_. That-” Tom gestured between the two of them “-that was completely requited. Totally consensual. Besides,” he sighed, lowering his voice, “if anyone took advantage, it was me.”

Harry whipped his head around. “What?”

“Back in the prison. I was the one trying to get in your pants. I shouldn’t have done that, not when you weren’t, you know, yourself.”

“I don’t think you’re remembering things correctly,” Harry said.

“It’s okay, though, Harry. If you don’t want to do this, that’s fine. You’re still my best friend. There’s not a single thing that could get in the way of that.” Tom’s hand hovered over Harry’s shoulder, indecisive. Harry reached up and took it from him, entwining their fingers together and squeezing. 

They sat like that in placid silence, with Tom running his thumb over Harry’s fingers. Harry slowly felt his heart rate return to normal. The chill left his body, and it was then that he began to realize exactly how exhausted he was. He let out a small, polite yawn and closed his eyes. 

“Am I keeping you awake?” Tom said softly.

“I feel like I could fall asleep right here.”

Tom rearranged himself lengthwise on the couch. He tapped his chest, looking down at Harry expectantly. Harry rose unsteadily to his feet only to lower himself back down over Tom again, nestling his head over his heart.

“This can’t be comfortable for you,” Harry mumbled into Tom’s chest. It was very comfortable for Harry. Tom was broad and warm, his heartbeat steady and reassuring. 

“I’ll live,” replied Tom, folding his arms around Harry. It felt familiar. _Safe_. He promised himself he'd just lay there for a few minutes, then he could go back to his quarters.

The last thing Harry remembered before falling asleep was Tom’s hand carding through his hair, his lips soft on the top of his head.


End file.
